


another pair of socks

by asokatanos (Emryslin)



Series: object permanence [2]
Category: The Mentalist
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24204283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emryslin/pseuds/asokatanos
Summary: She’s curled up against his side, head on his shoulder and right hand over his heart and so comfortable it’s like they’ve been sleeping like this for years. Everything about their relationship somehow has the surety of decades, though they haven’t really been together long. His hand comes up to cover hers, like he knows just what she’s thinking, and she smiles a little, warm. She wishes they hadn’t waited so long for this.
Relationships: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon
Series: object permanence [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768321
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	another pair of socks

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading a lot of jane/lisbon fic here and on ffnet and couldn't shake that Jane was the one who had to take literally all the big (and small) steps in their relationship. I don't think he minds, or honestly even realizes, but it might bother Lisbon if she noticed. For all the world that he's a jackass and there were good reasons (still grieving, still chasing RJ, etc) not to say anything, I think Lisbon believes he's a good man who deserves good things almost as much as he believes the opposite about himself. Shamelessly lifted some dialogue from the X Files, see if you can spot it.

She’s curled up against his side, head on his shoulder and right hand over his heart and so comfortable it’s like they’ve been sleeping like this for years. Everything about their relationship somehow has the surety of decades, though they haven’t really been together long. His hand comes up to cover hers, like he knows just what she’s thinking, and she smiles a little, warm. She wishes they hadn’t waited so long for this.

“Jane-“ she begins, and then amends when she sees the slight quirk of his mouth, “-Patrick. How long ago did you know how I felt about you?”

He releases a breath then, not quite a sigh but something like a close cousin. Not unhappy she asked, but reluctant to answer, and suddenly she stills him with her hand pressing a little closer against him.

“No, that’s not fair,” she says slowly, realization dawning on her. “I’m so used to you reading everything off me, but you shouldn’t have to.” She shifts, her left arm tightening around his and her forehead coming to rest against his neck.

“You’ve been telling me in so many ways for so long, but I never really told you, did I?” She asks, soft. She thinks of the plane and the dresses and the car in Miami, to the way he’d hugged her so tight when he first got to Austin. She thinks of the words in his letters, and the way he’d missed her as fiercely as she had him. Even then, he’d been the one to tell her, but he’d been left in the dark without any letters in return.

The memories come in a rush, unbidden.

She thinks of the day she’d woken in the hospital after going after Partridge alone and his hands in her hair and the worry obvious in his face. And the awful day he’d left her on the beach near Malibu. He’d deceived her and she had been so angry, but even then she’d known his words were honest. _You have no idea what you’ve meant to me – what you mean to me._ She hadn’t said anything back.

And she hadn’t said anything that night in her office when he’d shot the blank at her. _Good luck, Teresa. Love you._ She’s sure he hadn’t meant to say it then, but equally sure it was true anyway. She thinks of the way he’d stood close in that shipping container and promised to always save her, whether she needed it or not.

The way he’d asked her to dance at the high school reunion when she heard the song she loved, teasing her so she’d be comfortable, and how easy it had been to lean into his shoulder. How he’d shot Hardy, his only Red John lead, to save her even after they’d fought.

She thinks of all the gifts he’s given her over the years, and the mostly ill grace with which she’s accepted them. The origami frog to cheer her. The live pony in her office and his full grin at her surprise. The emeralds from the casino that he’d said looked lovely with her eyes and not the other way around. Countless cups of coffee and conciliatory bear claws. The cowry shell from the island and the heartfelt letters accompanying it that he’d risked his freedom and his life to send. Even the job with the FBI he’d gone out of his way to get for her, and the way she’d yelled at him on the plane back from Brooklyn for making assumptions and decisions on her behalf. The cannoli he’d gone back to get for her just to make her happy and the way he’d held himself back to let her make her own decisions.

She spots his socks hanging to dry on the back of a chair not far away and recalls the way his eyes had gone soft and his voice had broken when he’d accepted them. How he’s worn them constantly ever since, even when she was getting ready to disappear to DC with someone else. How he’d been overcome when presented with an old teacup he’d bought for himself in the first place.

Suddenly he shifts out from under her and reaches for her face, and she is alarmed to find him brushing away a tear she hadn’t known was falling. “Teresa?” he asks, confused, still holding her other hand against his chest.

And she realizes she is angry. She scowls, hand tightening under his, and is unaccountably furious. The angry tears keep springing to her eyes.

“How dare you,” she growls, sitting up to face him. “Why would you let me treat you like that for so long?”

He sits up too, back against the pillows and headboard, and stares at her. “ _What?_ ” For all he’s good at reading people, he has no idea what she’s talking about.

Her hand is still over his heart, though he let go of it when sitting up. She fists his shirt and pushes him, but doesn’t let go. She doesn’t know where to start, and she shakes her head, eyes coming to rest on the socks.

“You – you wear those socks every day,” she accuses nonsensically, and his brows furrow.

He knows she isn’t mad about socks, but without any other clue how to respond, he ventures, “you bought them for me.”

“Jane, you give so much of yourself to make everyone happy, to put smiles on their faces – on my face – and… and no one ever gives you anything. I just gave you socks and you wear them every day like they’re the best thing in the world.” She shoves at him a little again, and he closes his hand gently around her wrist, thumb against her pulse.

“They are,” he insists. “They are because you gave them to me. I don’t need anything else. And besides, you gave me back my favorite tea cup! I never thought I’d see it again, and you still surprise me every day.” Gently, he tucks his other hand under her chin and lifts it, ducking his head a little to look her in the eye.

“Teresa, love, what’s this really about?”

She shakes her head, still upset. “You are a good man, Jane, and you deserve the world. And I couldn’t even tell you how I felt about you until we’d already been together for a while! You’ve been telling me for years, and I’ve been making you guess, it isn’t fair. You deserve better than that. I wanted you to tell me you loved me, but I never even gave you an opening, and I never thought to tell you first. Why would you let me do that?”

He draws in a breath, staring at her in consternation for a beat, and then pulls her to him, tucking his chin over her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her. “Oh Lisbon, that’s not true. You’ve been – you’ve saved me a thousand times over, since the day we met. You made me get cleaned up, and you made me honest. I was a – a fraud, before, and you helped me do so much better. You picked up the pieces and you made me a whole person. You, Lisbon, not anyone else. I owe you everything, Teresa, and you don’t owe me a thing. I owe you my _life_. When Red John took everything, I - I never thought I’d get a second chance. You were my friend and you kept me going all those years chasing him down. Even when it seemed like everything was falling apart around us, you were constant. A touchstone, reminding me that there was still something good left.”

Slowly, her hand releases his shirt, and her arms come around his middle, but her shoulders are still tensed, unconvinced. Jane huffs a laugh, and asks, “are you really forgetting all of the times I’ve driven you crazy on cases? All that _paperwork_ you had to do?”

He feels the shadow of her smile on his shoulder and rubs his hand gently down her back. “I left you behind so many times. But you always forgave me. And you loved me, whether you said it or not. I could live whole lifetimes and never come close to deserving you. How could I? Without me, the CBI would never have fallen apart and you would have had Minelli’s job when he left, maybe a picket fence and a dog and a family, years ago. But you got stuck with me and it took me twelve years to start making it up to you. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying, I promise.”

She’s quiet a moment, and then offers, “Well then you’re going to need at least one other pair of socks,” the words muffled by his shoulder but pitched with affection.

He laughs, agreeing, and she sits up to peer into his face. Pushing an errant curl off his forehead, she says, quietly, “I did. I have. Loved you, I mean. I don’t even know how long, Jane. Maybe always.” And then she smiles. “Paperwork and all.”

“Oh? Then maybe I should find a way to get you to supervise again, hm? I’m sure I can stir up some more trouble, it’s not so- ow!” He rubs his shoulder where she’s smacked him, grinning.

They’re smiling at each other, and he locks the moment away into his memory before standing up and pulling her with him.

“Come on, let’s get some ice cream.”

“Jane it’s barely dawn!”

“Nearly eight,” he corrects.

“Dawn,” she insists.

“Ah, well then _coffee_ ice cream for you. And an espresso to go with it.”

“Chocolate for you?”

“Nope! Vanilla.”

“That’s so boring!”

“It isn’t boring, it’s a classic! Like my suits.”

“Hmm. I do like your suits.”

“Oh you do, do you? Do they, ah, _flip your switch_ , Lisbon?”

She pinches his arm and he yelps, but slings it around her shoulders as they head out the door.


End file.
